Closing out the Year

I'm going to try to do a quick recap of the final couple months of 2011.  Let's get right to this or it will never get posted.

Thanksgiving Jingles

I like to sing, a lot. Not very earth shattering, but most who know me would find this surprising. You see, my performance halls are very limited and the audience is ultra specific. Outside these safe confines, I'd be as apt to sing, as I would streak. 

I don't think I used to sing prior to Taylor.  Maybe once in a while, but my penchant was humming, or whistling.  The last few years, I've found myself singing a lot.  I'm not proficient, but I pass for the target audience. Thankfully, they are very forgiving. (except Taylor if I try to sing "You are my Taylor" instead of "You are my Sunshine.", or Mommy if I sing "Jingle Bells" - the Batman Smells version.) 

Using Dad, for a Crutch

As I write this, Taylor and her mother are out trick-or-treating. Anxiously, I await report of her adventure. Last year it was a little overwhelming and she went into a shell. I'm not there. It's a long story.

It all started as I was flying through the air. Actually, Destiny's wheel was set in motion over 30 years ago, when I first picked up a golf club. All the subsequent years of pounding golf balls, driving through with my right side, has altered my body. 

That's the only explanation I have for the unnatural behavior regarding my big right toe. For as long as I can remember... at least five years, a war has been waged. While most nails coexist peacefully with their neighbor; With disturbances such as, untended cuticles, or earthen smuggling, and occasional hostilities rising in the form of a hangnail. The nail-toe relations on the toe in question has degraded into rage-filled assault.  I won't go into detail here, this is family material, but you wouldn't think a nail could dig that deep, or that a river create the Grand Canyon, or a glacier carve the Great Plains. Given time, nature can do most anything.  Wonderful if you're visiting a national park, not so wonderful if natures digging happens in your toe. My toe has long lost the battle, but to me it's only a nuisance. Sure it flares up once in a while, and a day in golf shoes will leave me limping for the evening, but for the most part it doesn't affect my day to day life.

Then there was this Saturday.  The family was up fairly early.  Linda was with Taylor at her table, finishing  breakfast while completing a puzzle.  Luna was at my feet, anxious to play after a night in the kennel. A quick peek out back indicated an overnight rainfall. Realizing  a game of fetch in the back"yard" would quickly give birth to Mud-luna, which would lead to the game of mop the floor and wash the dog, I decided a walk might be better.

Luna Lounging

Daddy Time: Airport Edition

In February 2010 I made a post that talked about Daddy Time. (I won't rehash the contents, but if you're interested, feel free to give it another look.)  Now that we are 20 months into the future, Daddy Time has begun to evolve and actually increase.  

I still get my time early in the morning. Except now, instead of the glider in her room, it takes place in our bed, and often Taylor is a bit grumpier. In addition, there is another version of Daddy Time taking place these days.   Most evenings, I'll spend time with Taylor when she first gets home, as Linda gets dinner ready, or relaxes for a little bit (yes, I do prepare dinner at times).  Most of these evenings are spent in her back "yard" play area, but sometimes we do something special.

The Family Grows

I awake startled. Phantom pain foggily registers. Quietly, I lay on my mattress trying to place the time. Judging the light protruding the scant window coverings, I peg it around 6:30.

I've always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning through the night. There isn't much consistent in my sleep other then the difficulty in which it comes. This morning I lay on my stomach, my feet overhanging the foot of the bed.

Phantom pain is replaced by the real thing.

"Knock it off..."

There are a few questions where most people find themselves squarely in one camp or the other. For instance; Algebra or Geometry? Collegiate or Professional Athletics? Feline or Canine? You'll find me in camp with geometry, college athletics and dogs. I've always been a dog person.

"Ouch... Stop it!"

Close your eyes, and picture a puppy...

"Clear."

- Zap! -

"... anything?"

So many thoughts.  

So many voices in my head, all vying for attention... if only they would settle down for a spell.  So much I want to say, but when I open my mouth, no words escape... 

"clear."

Why is this so hard? Thought sparks in the deep recess of my mind. Words are expressly chosen in a vain hope of  understanding. I open my mouth.  No words. Frantically, I struggle to retain the thought.  To that connection.  It is fruitless, as the inspiration fades like the memory of a dream, only to be replaced by another voice, another story, another feeling.  Another chance to connect, another opportunity missed. If only I could clear the voices, a moments peace.  If only I had the time.  If only I could rest, think... sleep. 

Just clear my mind.

"Clear.."

- Zap! -

...

- beep -

- beep -

- beep -

"We got 'em."

"where am I?"

"Vital signs are weak, but stable."

"That was a close one.  Welcome back."